


Cut the Root

by space_birdie



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Character Study, F/F, Fluff, Haircuts, Working Out My Feelings Through Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 09:16:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20225437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space_birdie/pseuds/space_birdie
Summary: The first time Beau had her hair cut short was an accident.





	Cut the Root

**Author's Note:**

> Me? Writing out my feelings through fictional character? More likely than you think.

The first time Beau had her hair cut short was an accident. She had been out playing in the woods, dress ripped far above the knee and shoes thrown into a pond the moment she was able to kick them off. Her face had been covered in dirt and her long, curled hair had been tangled with sticks and leaves. 

When she had returned home, her parents threw a fit. There had been a lot of shouting, of anger and frustration at her for ruining what they had spent hours on that morning. Her mother had tried to undo the mess, chunks of hair being ripped out as she frantically brushed. In the end they decided it would be best to cut it short. She was sent to her room with no dinner that night. 

The second time Beau’s hair was cut short was on purpose. She had stolen one of her mother's scissors she used for sewing and snuck back up the stairs, quietly shutting the door to her room and leaning heavily back on it with her heart pounding in her ears. The itch of her hair tickling the back of her neck and tumbling down past her shoulders was too much. 

Before she could overthink things, overthink the consequences and her parents, she had moved over to the vanity and grabbed a handful of her tousled hair and cut. As the strands fell from her fingers she had moved in a flurry to cut more and more, tears in her eyes and face drawn tight in determination. 

When she had finished, her breath had been stolen as she peered at herself in the mirror. Quickly she had cleaned up the mess, letting handfuls of old hair catch in the breeze as she threw them out her bedroom window. 

When she had gone down for dinner that night her father had screamed while her mother had cried. She tried not to let it bother her, the insults and jabs they made. She was sent to her room once more, without dinner. After that they kept a closer eye on her. 

The third, fourth, fifth and sixth time blurred and mixed together in a cacophony of emotions and fragments of memories. There had been a lot of late nights spent arguing with her parents. Many nights of doors being slammed and voices raw from defending herself. There were plenty of tears as she had stormed back to her room to grab the now rusting scissors and chop handful after handful of hair off. It was an act of defiance, it was the only thing she had control of. 

The seventh time Beau had her hair cut short, she wasn’t alone anymore. Her parents had sent her away after years of trying to mold her into something she was not. When she had entered the library she had seen the other monks, had seen their shaved heads and closely cropped hair. Hers was the longest by far. When she had a chance, later that night, she had snuck away with her scissors in hand.

She had not been expecting to encounter someone else during this. Dairon had been waiting, leaned nonchalantly against the cabinets and her arms crossed across her chest. There had been questions and reluctant answers. When Dairon learned of her intentions, she had told her to wait and left. It wasn’t long before she had returned with a razor and comb in hand. 

With a finesse Beau had yet to master, the elf cut and trimmed her hair in a way that shook her to her core. She couldn't stop looking, turning her head from side to side as she admired the work. Dairon had promised to teach her, handing her the razor and leaving without another word.

Somewhere down the line, long past keeping count of each time, someone was watching Beau with rapt attention. The blue tiefling was leaning forward, elbows perched on her open sketchbook as she stared. 

"Why do you do that Beau?" Jester asked. Her tail flicked slowly behind her. 

"Do what?" Came the gruff response. The monk had a mirror in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other as she carefully trimmed the unruly strands. It was a rare moment her hair was down.

"You always look so intense when you do this and why do you leave the top long if everything else is so short?" 

“Because I like it like this and I want to make sure I don’t cut my face.”

“You won’t cut your face if you let me help.” Jester pulled a face as she said this, mouth twisted into a slight frown. 

“I - I don’t know. How do I know you won’t shave a dick or something into my hair?” 

Jester gasped dramatically, hands flying up to her face. “I would never!”

Beau lowered the mirror enough to stare over at the tiefling with a raised brow. “You say that, but I’ve watched you paint too many dicks on any surface available for me to not trust you.”

“Even if I did, at least hair grows back.” Jester pulled her knees up to her chest, pouting. “But it’s fine! It’s fine if you don’t want my help.”

Beau let out a sigh and fiddled with the rusted scissors. Something in her gut twists, guilt giving way to frustration. Part of her knows Jester wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want, but that fear built from years past has her wanting to run and hide. She had decided long ago that her hair was her own, something only she could cut and trim to be what she wanted. Having someone else do it, to have someone else have that control again isn’t something she’s sure she’s ready for. 

After a beat of silence, Beau raised the mirror again and halfheartedly snipped at the last few strands of hair she had yet to clip. “Have you ever cut someone’s hair?” she deflects. 

“When I was younger I would sometimes cut my own hair, though it usually wasn’t as pretty as I thought it would be. My momma was usually the one who helped me. She has a fancy pair of scissors that are like, in the shape of a bird?” Jester continued to ramble, hands flying in every direction around her as she spoke. 

Beau takes this time to quickly snip any fly aways before pulling her hair back into a topknot. She grabs a red strip of cloth and ties it as carelessly as she can. The monk takes one final look at herself in the mirror, before switching her attention back to the blue tiefling. Jester has stopped talking at this point and gives Beau a small smile in return.

“Maybe next time you need your haircut I could help you out,” Beau muttered.

“I would love that!” Jester nearly shouts. Her tail is waving wildly behind her while her eyes are filled with borderline wonder and excitement. “You could make me look as cool as you do.”

“I don’t -” Beau starts, her face coloring slightly, “Well I mean I think you’re pretty cool as is.”

“You do?” Jester whispered in awe. 

“Yea, I think so. But just keep my offer in mind.”

“Of course Beau, that would be wonderful.”


End file.
